By All Means
by AkaiShinda
Summary: "Every closed place I have to be in with him is poisoned and sweet in the same time." UsUk. 1977. Arthur's first person POV.
1. Again

1.

If everything was so simple that people share their difficulties and problems, I wouldn't be here, although maybe then either, if we would be able to be honest with each other, or to forgive. To forget.

Nothing changes the facts though, they are still there in their cruel being, and whenever they get in front of us, their mere existence can tear up our wounds like glowing steel, even though those stitches which were built up by our long years' hard and exhausting work. It's so easy to tear up those stitches, only a blink, a simple meeting, a voice is enough.

But to build up the walls again, close our thoughts inside and deny our feelings from ourselves, realizing how many illusions were holding us in their palm of hands? Who can do this that easily? No books or teaches are about this, each and every human must to get through on it by themselves, they say. To get through like booking, counting the wounds on our souls, estimate the damage and the probably never reachable healing? Then we get the final numbers, with our signature we give acceptance of the events around us, and put the booking away on a deep shelf in our heart, where we will never open it again.

Everyone thinks how it goes is perfectly approved and how it should be, the feeling of betrayal and longing will soon pass, and it won't be anything else, just a painful memory. A spot, a picture, a flash, nevertheless will remain to tell more than thousands of novels and poems, or paintings. I have hundreds of them in my galleries, in my libraries, still nothing can be compared to the sight and the voices I see and listen to in my head, in the nights. His face, his eyes, his hair, his look burnt into me every time he held his eyesight on me. To tell where I ruined everything or what I should have done instead of my decisions? No one under this sky can change on the current situations, but maybe everything goes on as it has to. In the end, the distance could have a major role to help in the scaling, however that hurt the most.

All the way down to be on his side, watching his actions and his early efforts to attempt his power, I would have loved to live these again myself too… and every time when he looked up on me proudly, and me smiling contently made him to feel the success. The worst is if you wished there was some kind of a connection, a bond between you, and when you finally believed you could make it, the life gave you a bitter and painful confutation. Anytime you thought you are on the same wave and it can stay like that.. These worth something to the other… mentioning he liked the time he had spent in your company but then after all…

Sometimes I find myself watching the sparrows on the pavement. They catch up to the sky when someone gets close to them, then after a couple of minutes they land calmly and do as they did before. I would like to ease that simply, or find my peace. These times I try to close out the sounds of the surrounding world of my head and just looking at it as it is in it's pure self. Cold. Detached. Everything seems to shine and when I enter a place I can see only the service… but the price they ask for is often too much.

I could mean this on the money I killed in his help, the time I spent in his company, on the energy I invested on him. On my thoughts which I planned his progress, I could mean it on the meetings with my superior when just to defend and to protect him, I came to heel like a dog. He would owe me a lot of things if I wrote it down and give it in. Nights, which I spent with him to keep his dream peaceful, mornings when I made breakfast for him, I taught him to behave and control himself… mostly. He could not even handle himself back then.

On the other hand, I would lie, it would be a gross error to claim I sorry all my invested… life.

Even when I had found him on the fields, I was struggling inside, hoping inside, he would be, just a small little piece of him… belong to me. Just for a small, precious time, to stay with me, however it hung in the air how fast he will grow up, and then… he didn't even sense how much for he could be grateful to me.

And I'm here again, gazing the trees, feeling the touch of the caressing wind on my cheeks, watching the graceful fall of the colored leaves, the soaring birds in the air. Surrounds, still my being misses from it. Futilely I took deep breath, opening my eyes, and vainly I feel how the frozen air fills my lungs. From there, from my deepest parts, the space pierces me inside.

Everything happened so suddenly, didn't even mean anything that I had known about it… I have never wanted to believe he will actually do it. To me? Why especially to me? But if… if for him that meant advance and obviously it meant… then I have no reason to feel sorrow.

Every closed place I have to be in with him is poisoned and sweet in the same time. I hate when I have to raise my eyes on him, if I have to call his name, and even if I manage to overcome this in myself, he always does something to break his small strain of confidence in me. Like… like he knew everything.

I prefer not to think on this bothersome topic.

The cell phone rings again, and the servant is standing on the edge of the pavement for around ten minutes. I must go there. I must be there.


	2. Raging Strings

_Hi all, thanks for reading me. The story is being betad by my friend and she is doing a great job. I hope you like the story . I would like to improve my style as much as possible!_

_Note: I don't own Hetalia, and none of the boys here.  
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2.

Sure enough he didn't have any clue where I was before, why was I sitting in the Hyde Park for half an hour instead of having my lunch, and without any reason just wasting my time, watching dirty grey birds. To him these were incomprehensible… but so then, it really has no significance. Passing by him silently, holding my hands in the pockets of my uniform trousers, I don't even look at him. It would not have any meaning either.

Any time I hold my eyes on him a small warning flame burns inside me, which makes me remember on the same feeling, when I realized I have lost him. When I realized, he doesn't need me anymore. Not as friend, not as brother. How many times have I patched up his clothes, and how many times have I catered his wounds in turn?

"Arthur if you'a' not int'ested, you can even move you'a p'etty ass out with the s'ame end'urance as you came in." That guy's intolerable pronunciation goes on my nerves.

"Your mouth smells like snails." I gave him that just as a statement as I sat down beside the oval table. The salon was in a conference building close to the lovely Kensington Gardens, but from outside it simply looked like a simple block of house with red brick cover and white adornments. The room itself was spacious and still gave a comfortable feeling to me with the arabesque decorations on the walls and the light green curtains hanging on the tall windows. The table itself was painted white and it had cases at each seat. About the chairs, I am certain they were made of cherry-tree and covered by green cushions.

As I held my right elbow on the table and looked around on the surrounding faces, basically I got a strange feeling for some reason. It is said that these nations, including me of course, are the leading forces on the globe called Earth (what a narrow-minded name). After all, our decisions have major effects on the life of it, and we are called the Top Ten. Unfortunately this includes a lot of trash, I might want to start the list with that wine-drinking pervert bastard, called Francis Bonnefoy (what an ostentatious name, seriously, with his quantity of self-esteem I would be afraid of stepping out on the streets; someone might want to kill me with that amount of tastelessness).

After all… we are full of blonds, we can't have huge troubles.

The certain case we were about to discuss was the investments in Central-Africa, indicated by Alfred and Nikolaj, and of course they might have forgotten to tell me about the cases of my heritage in that particular area. But really this is not that important, instead of this I started drawing on the little pamphlet in front of myself and I've gotten deeply in it for half an hour so far. It's not my business what they want to build in the middle of the jungle, anyways.

"Then, will England participate in the investment?" Asked me the Dutch suddenly from the other side of the table on my left, around the end of the conversation, and as I pick up my head from my arms, I notice the booklet in front of me is totally destroyed by the ink of my pen. Most of the eyes except the peacefully sleeping Veneciano target me, but I prefer looking back on my paper for a moment, then back up on the prickly haired blond (!) man.

"It's not in my sphere of interest." Saying on a rather cold voice, the other powerful nations are quiet surprised but they accept my answer. However in real, my being there was completely unnecessary, America's voice kept echoing in my head. Cheerful, purposeful and he has no weak point, he had to be formed like this to get him where he is now.

But the secession wouldn't have to be certainly compulsory…

I have no idea how much time have gone so far when Ivan raises his hand to ask for a break, he wanted to have a phone-call and some other businesses done. When I look out of the mirror from the fourth floor, among the grey clouds the sunlight reaches the surface of London only weakly, just with a diminutive feeling of warmth.

The pause, that small amount of time which I can spend on the open air helped me in the beginning: Alfred was not in the ten-meter radius. Standing beside the tall building's red brick walls, hands in my pockets I started gazing the clouds again, however I had to close my eyes against the sunlight. The traffic has eased already on the streets, my nation was already to rest for the night… as the opposite of our plans for the evening. The topic as the last one remained only Germany and the export trading plans, and sadly I didn't have any intention to attend this lovely meeting, however… if I could not sit on my chair and listening like nothing particular bothers me, I wouldn't have right to call myself British again. I got used to that everyone in my environment think about me as one of the most stable person and empire. I never have any problems, I don't need anyone's help, and no one can destroy me.

Is it so unbelievable that I have feelings?

I didn't even realize it on the first time, as I slid down on the wall of the building and I'm squatting beside the pavement. The passer-by walks beside me like a cloud. Smoothly, silently, undetectably.

Just me is who stays there, no matter that my knees are aching, I couldn't imagine better position and activity for myself. Alfred is with Kiku for sure. In turn, he has no need for me.

These times the self-destruction is painful and joyful at the same time. Living those moments again when I first looked at him, he held his eyes up on me, calmed by my presence and led me by my hands. For me he was such important that if France threatened him, I rushed for him, throwing away my pursuit. The actual peace found me at times only when he held his arms around my neck and touched my hair.

Those times passed by long time ago, still piercing me till the present day. If I had done something wrong he would had told me, I know his honest personality enough to be convinced about this. If he had wanted to be independent we could have solved it somehow…

"Arthur."

I really missed him sure enough, hearing his cagey, still interested voice. He haven't seen me in such a position before, squatting at the side of a building like a homeless, gazing up on the sky, on the clouds. My answer for him is just a small wag; if my voice could work I could say something. My silent being is that calls his attention on the fact, that something has happened.

"What's wrong?" Asking from me quietly, he steps beside me but without a touch and not coming down to me. If I started, maybe he would freak out because of me, leaving me there, or would detest me because I still can chew myself on this.

"Nothing." I say this for him to hear only but I don't take away my eyes from the sparrows who twit on the balcony of the house on the other side. Several geraniums are planted in the pots there, the lovely small birds jump them around playfully. Of course to make him believe my sentence I want to add it's just my exhaustion, he interrupts my thoughts.

"Did someone hurt you?"

His question stuns me for a couple of seconds, I would like to refuse somehow, deny… but really, no one attacked me, still he cannot figure out anything. Just him… with his pure naivety in his soul which encouraged him to trust in me and rely on me. No one has hurt me. Sadly I can't convince myself about this either.

"Who hurt you?" He repeats it again, trying to make me answer faster. If he stays beside me like that… if he keeps asking me that fiercely… closing my eyes I have to take a deep breath to calm the trembling in myself. I can't tell where it comes from, just that behind my heart, more at the back of it so deeply that I'm unable to describe. It got stronger as the fact reached my conscious mind that Alfred was standing right beside me, breathing, and his heart was beating only three feet far from me still so unreachable like the leaf that was taken by the wind far away, leaving the branch of the tree behind. But this lovely leaf has left by his decision.

"Go away." Saying it out on a normal voice, my mouth talks without my mind. "Please."

The blond doesn't move. Now he knows is unequivocally that there is something wrong.

"Go away!" I repeat now with purpose.

"What happened? Is there something troubling you? Who has hurt you?"

"Just go away, please, can't you understand?"

"Come guys we wanna start!" Calls out Romano loudly and I'm standing up , forcing strength in my weakened legs. Beside me Alfred being mistrustful and frowning, he watches me and tries to read from my eyes and my gestures, and as a straight answer, I stiffen my heart, cutting all of his possibilities. "Just one and a half hours, Ludwig says he doesn't want to be here for long, and you know how he is…"

Humming I nod and putting my hands in the pockets of my trousers, I leave the Yankee there, who looked at the same direction where I did some minutes ago. The sparrows were not there anymore.

I like Ludwig's negotiations. That man always knows what he wants and he counts every possible options to choose the best one, and his decision is unchangeable. He does not change his opinions either which makes him reliable. When I'm listening to his talking I know everything will go on stuck to the plans and nothing can interrupt it. He is a real man. Not like I'm not.

He would count on my help in the ingredients side and I'm nodding, sitting back in my chair I warn him, basically I'm not on the top of the sailing trade nowadays, I would prefer the air-trade for some reason. Ludwig nods, writes down something on his notebook and turns to the Dutch again. So everything goes on as it has to. Europe on her way and I'm getting closer to them…

On the other hand, even if I'm in the company of Ludwig and Feliks, none of them has this aura like that idiot Yankee with those glasses. Even when it turned out that he doesn't see well, I knew it meant something about him growing again, even though that was after his declaration of independence.

I never needed things like that, but he did so many, back then when he was a child. We played, drew, walked in the forests… and when I had to take my departure, in the beginning he cried, he didn't want to let me go. He said he was afraid. Then as he grew he just got in tears and made me promise that I'll come back as soon as I can, but as soon as… And he was left there alone, but he kept growing stronger.

I do remember every occasion when I arrived at his place injured of totally exhausted. Every time he pulled me down, I had to knee in front of him to let him hug and grab my neck, then my collar or my jacket, and he climbed in my arms. How small he was, still how strong… but sometimes he just held my face in his little palm of hands, caressing me, hugging me and laughing. And I was just there as I was, I had to hug him due to the fact… he was the only one for I would have thrown away everything. Yeah… I have spent hell a lot of time at his place, far more then it's written in the records.

Once when I got beaten by a certain blond fashion-maniac jerk I didn't even go home but headed to Alfred to check if everything was fine, though my whole body was wrapped in bondages, half of my face was in gauze bondage but the jacket hid the ones covering up my body and the injures, he found them on the first sight but still forced me to come down on my knees. Even then, however he saw the aching pain in my eyes, he kissed my forehead through the gauze with his small lips. I still feel it in the present day like it happened yesterday, the small, barely touchable sign on my skin, where his lips found me. Those seconds are like diminutive live coals inside me, sometimes burning so hard that I'm afraid I'll be torn apart by them. By their absence.

It's a clear fact that he will grow up. Fact, that he is another person. I accept every tiny little thing just for him to be well. Just let him know, he still can count on me.

The years followed each other so fast like the cabs on the Trafalgar-square. Sometimes deeply wondering inside I watched how he put away his books and prepared for lunch. Often I found myself that he was looking at me; still I tried to pretend I don't know about it. Maybe that amount of attention wasn't enough for him? He wanted more? Everything has become meaningless for now.

As I was sitting at the table, the pen already fell out of my fingers but I don't care. Just gazing forward, towards the middle of the desk, meanwhile seeing thousands of gloomy pictures behind my eyes, those I can't handle. No one can push me out of that state. I don't hear the outside anymore, I don't feel the floor underneath my shoes, the chair which I sit in just cradles me deeper, covers me warmly in this waving sea of memories. America. Just a blink is enough to close my eyes, and I sense his scent which I would recognize from one thousands of others. I remember everything, anytime he hugged me, or leaned on me, or just simply relied on me. At that time, my warm uniform jacket, the chair propping my back, the air, everything seemed to transform around me. As I let it flow around myself, I felt it inside of me, him as well, leaning on my back, his arms entwining around my chest. Something strange has conquered my thoughts. I'm sinking behind my closed eyes.

I just ask only one time to live these through in reality… to feel this only once, in real.

This rips me into pieces.

And before I realized, I was already sleeping, leaning back in the chair, hugging myself with my arms.


	3. Arabesque

3.

Voices cut through the raveling darkness.

"Can't be that heavy… he has always been so slim." A man who stood around two feet from me, now steps beside my chair, one of his hands touches under my knees, with the other one he reaches behind my waist, there he slides his arm up till he lifts my body up. My head falls towards his shoulders, and just barely at my consciousness I feel how the dark-brown cowhide jacket's smell melts in my nose. My left ear rests at his shoulder, he stabilizes his hold under my knees and he puts his chin on the top of my head to pull it towards himself. "I take him."

"I'll follow you to the car." I don't recognize the other person.

"Quiet. Don't wake him up, man." He cleans his throat and with a shy look I see the flash of his glasses and the movement of his blond hair. "If he wakes up and finds himself in this position, I guess he would tear off my head in the second."

You just think that… but it seems like you are not protecting my dreams.

He must have been holding me in his arms all the way home, since the touch of the cold sheets and my blanket wakes me up. Trying to hold myself I reach on the side careworn to lift myself up, with my other hand wiping my face, then looking up on him with small groans, and interrupted breaths. He stands beside my bed in his jacket, as I see his furious blue eyes filled with incomprehension, these two fought an ocean-blue battle in his eyes, parching on me for the split of the second. I can't bear it for more; I must catch away my eyes.

"What's wrong?" He is asking me with inevitable power, taking away my breath for a moment, and I prefer to correct the position of my pillow under my head, being aware of keeping my eyesight away of his figure, but he doesn't give up. "Don't make fool of me!"

"Nothing." Saying quietly I put down my head, pulling the two blankets on my shoulders and I try to close my eyes and to calm down my racing heart. Of course I'll tell him, for sure, and everything would be over between us. That tiny little bond which hangs by a breadth of hair…

"Don't play around me, say it out! Maybe I could help you!"

"Don't shout with him!" Peter's voice echoes in the room for one or two seconds, as the small sailor runs inside angrily in his white uniform, he grabbed the arm of the American and tried to pull him away. Of course, Alfred didn't even lost his balance, just looked down on the child who pinched his right lower arm. "Leave him alone! He wants to sleep, can't you see?"

"But something's troubling him a lot!" Answers the other blond rather nervously, but he tries not to hurt the littlun's feelings.

"He is an adult, he can solve it himself, and he just needs to relax. C'mon, get out of here! Perhaps you hurt him right now!"

"Peter…" Calling his name on a barely hearable voice, the boy's eyes got wide from the surprised attention. I don't think that he had ever seen me that weak before. Slowly he releases Alfred's arm with a shameful face, stepping away from the other one, who strokes his right arm for a couple of seconds, then together they look down on me, who is relaxing and just breathing deeply with half-closed eyes, under the gradually warming blanket. "Go to have a bath, and then you can read a bit and try to sleep."

The ambassador of Sealand gets confused for a second, then asks whether this is sure or not, and I'm nodding. His American brother is frowning again and he wants to say something when Peter interrupts him. "Alfred, then today you'll read for me." And walked out, however he kept his eyes on me until he stepped out on the corridor.

Curiously I open my eyes and look up on him to see his very reactions. Alfred's breath was taken for a couple of seconds that's obvious, then with lagging voice he agrees, however this can bring up hell a lot of memories from deep inside of him to the surface as well. Yes, Peter likes the tales too.

Closing my eyes with exhaustion and taking deep breaths I try to relax, though my heart pounds in my chest with an aching speed. The one with the glasses gazes towards the door for another minute long, where Peter has gone out before, then on a rather soft, quiet voice he asks. "What do I have to read out for him?"

"The…Brownie's Adventures." That's the first answer for all of his questions today, but this reply reaches his heart even more deeply, as he stiffens his fist and nods. After all, he loved these goblin tales as well, it wasn't enough to listen to them once, nope, he asked for them again and again for weeks, and I had to convince him that other good stories do exist beside these as well. Then his favorite was Robin Hood… justice, freedom, heroes, love… and all that bloody shit. "He is now at the Kitty over the Milk-pot chapter."

"How many times already…?"

A bittersweet smile appears on my mouth, for one reason of his voice which lacks any kind of emotions; the other reason is the meaning of his question, which is rather ironic. "Maybe the sixth… only."

I don't know what takes place in his soul right now, but unambiguously he is being harrowed by his own storms of emotions and memories inside. In the old days when he was frustrated, with the most simplicity he just asked me whether he can sleep with me for the night, or just climbed in my arms while I was reading. Now he is leaving. I guess he realized that Peter needs caring to keep him calm… before he pulls the door after himself, he calls my attention again.

"Wait for me! Don't fall asleep yet, I have to talk with you."

Alfred… if this whole stuff is because of you… then exactly your closeness and your voice will be the ones from which I'll fall apart… but if you would go now… Peter can't see me in that state.

Maybe ten or twenty minutes pass silently as I'm floating between the state of being conscious and sleeping, gazing up on the ceiling, my blink falls on the door, where the light of the corridor sneaks in a narrow hole, giving a shady dimness atmosphere to the room. The sanctum of me was rather spacious but it didn't have much furniture in it, just my double-sized bed, the dressers on the right side and on the opposite side of the bed beside the door, the wardrobe with my suits. On the left side, the noises of the streets seldom get through the wide and tall windows which meant the time was already around seven or eight o'clock in the evening. Yeah, Peter has to sleep, he is an obedient child.

Alfred has never slept away so easily, I had to play with him, or to let him to caress my hair or my chest till he didn't feel calm enough and his lovely blue eyes closed. Then as he grew, his affection had changed and he didn't hang that much on me like before, he stroke my face fewer, and didn't cherish me as he did before. And that gave me horrible amount of silent pain.

Suddenly among my thoughts the door opened and he stepped in, walked to the left side of my bed and sat down on it worn-out, and as he sits with his back to me, he puts his elbows on his knees to cover his face by his palm of hands. So… he read to him.

The American sits around three feet away from me, still I can feel, I can hear his breathing as he took air among his fingers, through his nose, in and out again and again. I'd love to let myself a single touch, just of his jacket but I have to control myself. This all is in the reality. And he is here.

"It's clear and obvious that something has happened to you." Giving it forth he would like to hear a reply but that's the minute when I realize I'm still in my uniform in my own bed. My eyes got widen and my face turned pale white, and the urge of the immediate cloth-change has given me power to step out of my bed and walk to the dresser, which was on the blonde's side. From him around two feet I start buttoning my green uniform jacket. The air was freezing colt, I shiver for a second when it climbed under my shirt with its frozen fingers, and as I untie my belt and stepping to the cases, I hear Alfred's heavy sigh. "So… if you stay in silence it means yes? Home affairs?"

Home affairs? No, there aren't any strikes and financially I'm satisfied with the current situations and you know it too… just my soul is in pieces.

Careworn I pull up my sleeping-trousers which are simple black cotton trousers, then I finally unbutton my shirt and fast, not letting myself shiver from the cold again, I put on the dark-blue t-shirt which I use for sleeping. Still without saying a word I walk back and climb in my place, and I take a deep breath when I could finally lie on my back, with the blanket pulled on my chest. Alfred turns to me half-sided, and all of a sudden he puts his right hand on the bed. "Foreign affairs?"

Humming I look to the other side of the room, towards the windows. It really got dark outside, the lights of the lamps out on the streets look like gloomy orbs, shining in the semidarkness of the evening. Even though this house was enough for the three of us, it cooled off too easily and way too many noises could infiltrate from the street ward side of the building.

"So foreign? Who was it?" I didn't expect that sudden reaction at all, he props himself quite closely in the middle of the bed, and his fingers were so near that I felt their push on the blankets. But what really bothered me was something different.

Foreign affairs? Seriously? Why would he be interested in it, that would be just another dumb European quarrel over something trivial. But how did he think that someone would threat me? No one has interest in my country, after the negotiations today, that wouldn't make sense at all. Well, it's not important, meaningless. Why is he getting so nervous about it?

"Was it Francis?" The Frenchman? He wouldn't have any reason (and bravery either).

I still gaze towards the windows, trying to keep the messages of my eyes empty, and I attempt to hold my look on the light of the street lamps for a long time… I don't want him to figure out anything, or just to feel something of this shameful behavior of me.

"Ivan?" He really doesn't give up, and I give a heavy sigh on such a crestfallen way that he can't take it as an answer. He blinks and pulls himself closer, but my reaction gave him a straight answer, since I turned to the windows and pulled up the blankets to my ears to cover me from him. All that he can see of me is my hair and my left ear.

"Feliks? But… But if something like that happens why don't you tell it to me? You think you can solve it yourself?"

"There is nothing to solve."

He is way too much surprised that finally I answered; he even forgets what he wanted to say. After a couple of silent moments he talks again, even more close to me than before. I can't bear this till the morning. "Who has hurt you?"

His voice is somehow… soft… like… like he was really asking that… like he would really care.. But I can't answer. I can't… but with all of this I reach the point that he puts down his head with a desperate face expression, and I hear as he has put up his legs on my bed. Silence has filled the room.

Both of us are breathing. His are fast, more frustrated, perhaps in his head the thoughts are racing after each other while I'm just laying there, gazing through the transparent window, still I can see him in the pictures on the glasses which flash back the light from inside. I can look at him; he was in his jacket yet. We are lying beside each other for a long time, he is around one foot far from me, breathing, his heart beats like a caged bird's, and he is so far away from me… I feel like whole worlds are separating us.

Emptily, dimly blinking like imperfect porcelain I let inside myself silently to the intensifying pulling towards the deep to reach me, and hold my soul. At least he is here… that has to be enough.


	4. Solid State Battle

_Hi again! Thank you for reading me!  
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_The story will be more active soon as you see, it just needs time to show the basic things. Well-o-well, let me explain some things to you in my story. The characters are representations of countries, still living, immortal creatures, look like humans, they have needs like humans, still they exist till a country does. Every country has an immortal like them, and of course they are not known by the public, they don't occur in events and celebrations. They are in contact with the ministers and the governors, and they act like ambassadors, still they discuss everything with each other. Their influence on the history is in their experience and their knowledge. Of course they don't have any supernatural power, and they won't be weaker if there is an economic disaster or something, still when a country suffers damage, they feel it on different ways, depending on how much they love their country. I'm happy that I can publish the 4th chapter! I hope you'll like it._

4.

The time which flows on the axis of time are undeterminable for both of us, but either of us can compose ourselves and our feelings. He knows that I'm awake, I know, since he is watching me, still I haven't seen his look that bitter before. I close my eyes for a second, and for my dismay, warm, soft fingers' touch is on my left shoulder, and when finally reaching me, they grab me.

"Arthur." I hear his voice is lowering in whisper. "Tell me who hurt you. Please, tell me."

My eyes are widening as I'm stupefied when I realize he is shivering. I can feel this as his hand holds me, through the small, almost imperceptible movement of his arm and his whole body which stuns me. "I… I won't go away until you tell me. And then I'll bomb him down till… till there won't be any trace of him anymore, and… till I reach the crust of the Earth.. I won't find my peace… just please tell me already." I haven't heard him talking on this voice ever.

He was begging, holding my shoulder, his grip was almost is almost painful and yet I still enjoy every second of it… since he touched me.

As the seconds followed each other, and slowly he realizes he'll stay without reply, the blond takes away his hand and presses it to his own chest. His vivid sky-blue eyes closed, as quietly that only I will hear it, he gives himself out to me.

"Tell me… what should I do?" Almost whispers… I barely understand.

I could ask thousands of things from him now. Money, territory, oil, women, anything… I don't need any of these. I don't need anything anymore, just… just to stop this damned caustic cutting, this burning, smoldering hell in my soul, let me be free of that piercing, biting state already…

"Arthur…"

I can't bear this anymore.

"Hug me." I breathe out with my eyes pressed down, letting the mops of my hair to fall in my forehead and my face. If just for a couple of seconds, but let me feel his skin on mine once again.

Alfred moves immediately, throws his jacket on the floor and climbs under the two blankets, then carefully pulls his figure to my back and hugs my waist with his left arm. Huddling up against my back his body follows the state of mine and I have to lift my head, and then lay it on his right upper arm. His hand leans back and I feel his frozen fingers playing with my blond mops of hair, as he puts his palm of hand on my forehead, and I can't resist giving myself to the quieting, still keeping my eyes closed, my arms still hugging my own sides. The silence fills all of my atoms with comforting, pleasant feeling of warmness… like a speechless resurrection. I feel the air in my lungs and even my heart doesn't want to cut through my ribs. Alfred's left hand caresses my stomach through the shirt and then stops down on the sheet. As I feel his warm, bracing shoulders and his chest behind myself, taking a deep breath I have to swallow all the pain I had before. Perhaps he feels the same but I'm not quite sure since he is still trembling for some reason. His nose lets the air flowing in the back of my head; his breath lags and vibrates sometimes.

"Arthur…" whispering, I feel as my mind sinks towards the deep, but his question interrupts me again. "Do you remember… when you saved me on the Elcano? I'll never forget it as long as I live."

"It was a huge mistake of me, bringing you there." Answering on a rather acceptable voice, I let out a deep breath, and with one hand reaching his fingers beside my stomach.

"Never, never anyone had stood out for me like you did… no one else will…"

"Alfred…" I'd like to turn my head towards him, but he cuts in.

"It was your last ship… the last, and…" I know, I feel, something wished to come out of his soul so fiercely like never before. "Carriedo stood in front of me, and we were already sinking… I know it was him, he wanted to shoot me with his pistol, he was waiting for the moment when you arrived… do you remember?"

I'll be the last who will ever forget as the ship was leaning towards it's back and he, in his small white clothes, and tiny dark brown leather boots running down on the staircase from the stern, and right after this, the frozen breath of the death reached him when he saw the pistol targeting him. In the minute when I arrived and squatted down to him, he grabbed with both hands in my white shirt while trying to balance himself towards me, he gazed at the Spanish like he didn't even realized and know what was happening around him… He was so tiny, as I was squatting beside him, he reached up just to my chin.

"In your left hand you held the pistol on your shoulder, but the harder one, from the dead hard steel you targeted him." His words whispering into my ears, I feel as he took small breaths to remember. "and your eyes… your eyes were glowing so… I haven't seen you like that since then… so wild… so dangerous."

"Do you remember what I told to Carriedo?"

-_"One empty thought of him will be enough for me to kill you."_

Enough to touch you, enough to think about you, if he would have done a step towards you, I'd had made him equal with the bloody plain ground. I wanted to say this.

"But after these… why…. did you change?"

These questions come from a still immature and uncomprehending mind.

"I wanted to give you safety, and it can't work if I was in war with someone." Telling him I clear my throat but he doesn't accept my answer.

"Why did you let it to be like that?"

This is the final point when I feel my eyes are shutting by themselves and I let the air to flow out of my lungs. That was the time when I realized how much how much he was worth to me in reality. I couldn't let anyone hurt him… he had been so fragile, and I was already grown, mature, with a tremendous amount of responsibility on my neck. At that time, the navy and the fleet was the most important for me, it was on my top list of life, I have never felt so free anywhere else just on the stern and while I was sitting on the main mast's pole with that ridiculous sized plumed hat on my head, in those claret-coloured jacket. During the war in the end of the sixteenth century, there was nothing else in my head but to beat that bloody Spanish bastard, and on one journey home, I had to take Alfred, not to make him any kind of target, or object of deal. On the way to London we had a serious fight on the sea, and Antonio got on my ship. Alfred was on the stern beside the steering wheel and as he had ran down on the steps, he found himself in front of the leader of the Spanish Armada. That time I was still up on the mast but as I had looked down and saw his tiny figure in those white clothes, and just around ten feet far Carriedo, whose lips had curved on an evil smirk, like someone who had found the most deadliest weapon of the era. I still remember as the blood froze in my veins, and I grabbed the clew line, and sliding down on it, I landed right next to Alfred in squatting, holding my gun on the Spanish. The dirty-blond boy's small fingers touched and grabbed the linen of my shirt as he does now… vacillating, hesitating, still with the stable fact that I'm there and he can trust in me. I'll protect him from everything even if everything what I have built up, or everything that I am now will perish. That time I had bent so close to his hair, I felt the scent even in those few seconds, but that's how I showed him he is not in danger anymore.

And now… He is the one, hugging me, warming me up and giving me defense. I wish we could stay like this for ever… tightly… close.

_Additional information__: Elcano was the last ship of Sir Francis Drake, who a pirate was serving the Queen of England. At the last days of the Spanish-British war on the turn of the 17__th__ C, Drake came back from a war with that ship, and he brought some of the Spanish Armada's ships as well._


	5. Dearest

Dear all! Thanks for your lovely reviews, I've read all and I can't tell how happy you made me with them! Thank you so much! I hope you'll like it. ^_^

The very next morning...

5.

Several hours later the dawn unveils us as I'm facing him, my forehead touches his chest and I feel as my conscious mind slowly awakens from the tranquil state of sleeping. My right hand caresses his back; my left holds his shirt among the fingers. His peaceful breaths are stroking my hair calmly, as he touches my skin with his lips, I can feel as he kisses my head while he is deeply asleep. With a long sigh I try to compose myself but the moment when he moves his knee which lies between my legs, my eyes widen. With a fast checking I state that both of us are dressed (luckily) and for a second I feel as my blood pressure decreases, but... where are his trousers?

"_If it's okay, can you lend me a boxer?"-_His whispers from the night pop in my mind after a second of despair.

Oh. Thank you, for the Heaven's sake.

I spend probably around half an hour in his arms... and I can't have enough of his fragrance, his touch, and as he is protecting me even in his dreams... his fingers are moving in my hair and on my waist. The two blankets are holding us warm enough as it's needed.. Everything seems to be so perfect. Carefully I caress on his back from his neck towards his waist, hearing a sound like he groans in his dreams, but he didn't wake up. His shoulders are chiselled, he has strong muscles there, but of course beside Ludwig he is still an average guy. I reach up to touch his hair, which is moderately thick but soft and silky as it was. Being aware of not moving my upper arm much, with an increasing curiosity mixed with desire allows me to hold his hair at his nape. It still has a rather gloom touch.

Closing my eyes I cuddle him a little bit to myself, I don't have much time left. With opening my palm of hands, I try to pull his back towards my body, but he winces and tightens his embrace around my waist and my shoulders, now I must turn my face to the side and press myself to him with my whole body. I think he is awake. Not like it would change anything on our position, the minutes are following each other in the same muteness like before. I don't want anyone, and anything to interrupt, and anything to interrupt, even if it's quite ambiguous what we are currently doing. I'm not convinced that beside us anyone else would like to sleep like this... except Veneciano and Ludwig. Maybe I'm thinking too much... runs through my mind when the hall-clock starts tinkling, and with a deep breath I take cognizance of the end of the idyll. Peter needs breakfast.

So quite lazily I'm trying to climb out from his embrace then out of the bed, digging my in hair with a slow, sleepy movement of my left hand. My shirts are partly unbuttoned, and albeit I shot gimlet eyes at the Yankee, his sky-blue eyes are languidly following my walk as I go to his side of the bed, and I start changing my clothes.

He turns on his back, clears his throat but he is just looking at me, the blanket reaches up to his chest. Like this, without his glasses he seems to be more honest, more pure, and of course more attractive than before.

"Wher'ya goin'?" Asks, his voice falters because of sleepiness.

"I'm heading to make breakfast." My voice is rather hoarse as well.

"What's the breakfast...?" Party moaning, partly saying as he is stretching himself and his muscles on his arm, I'm just watching him wondering till I finish the buttoning of my white shirt and the dark-blue, plaid vest.

"What you like... chips and fish."

"But don't make any sauce please..." Moaning again, he sits up, and the blankets are falling down into his lap, but this way I can see him without his shirt and his jacket on, just in a tank top. His shoulders, his chest, his stomach. I prefer go and not saying any comments on his request.

"Dress up. It's cold."

Half an hour later I'm setting the table, calling out Peter from his room but when he doesn't reply, I decide to walk there on the corridor. I'm already knocking on the boy's door when Alfred appears on the other side of the hall and waves to me. He dressed up properly, and on some sort I'm glad that he borrowed one of my sleeping shirts which are big enough for him to wear and he is not in those tops he wore yesterday. As I look at him at the opened door of the little sailor's room, I feel as my heart sinks then starts beating really fast when he reaches me. His face is strangely serious, and when Peter speaks out that he is already dressing up, the one with the glasses puts his left hand out and closes the door, then immediately grabs both of his arms around my body. I cannot even realize the actions, but I'm not strong enough to untie his hold around my neck and my back. I have no idea what to do, but since I feel the heat in my cheeks and in my ears, I have to do something as fast as possible.

"Don't fuck with me, Alfred..."

After around half minute of suffering in his arms I decide to give in, not just because he holds me in a steel grip, but as I feel his still sleepy scent in my nose, I feel something peaceful deep inside of my heart. He will hold me till he wants, anyways, so I put my hands on my waist, against the shouting urge in my heart, to hug him back tightly. "Alfred! Stop it!"

"Calm down." Whispers into my ears directly, then pushes me away just to look in my eyes, his arms are still lying on my body. I give him an angry glare, frowning.

"You're the reason of everything." Mumbling to him quietly, but I know he doesn't care, because he put his face back on my shoulder and caresses my back, before with a deep breath he releases me.

"But if you are that peevish, it means you feel better."

"Go to the kitchen, we're joining you in a minute." Telling him on a casual voice, and he nods with a smile on his face, and I can't interpret the meaning of it properly but as he passes beside me, putting his hands in the pockets' of his jacket, he starts singing on his deep voice. He always had a good style of dressing, that cowhide jacket fits his perfectly, and even when he was full of junk food, he never got obese. In addition, of course he loved sports and moving, to sit for more than an hour was a complete torture for him that's something that everyone knows, even this short blond sailor who opens his door with a wide smile on his face, and steps beside me.

"What's the breakfast, Arthur?" Asks, and before I could set his cap on its right place on his head, he jumps away, so I give up with a disappointed sigh.

"Fish and chips, like last time." The child starts chuckling for a short time as we walk towards the kitchen.

"You can't mess this up, you jerk?"

"Like you had any kinds of speciality!" I rebuke him, but he sticks out his tongue as a reply.

"Alfred is here and you want to show off?" Grins the child.

"What?" I feel as my ears turn red. "Nothing like that! Is it so surprising that I can do something properly?"

"Nah, but in normal cases you make puree of vegetables and you put it to something fatty bacon, and mix some awkward sauce to it."

"Hey, if you learned doing something on your own, then you'll have right to criticize!" Giving a small snap on the back of his head, he starts running after Alfred with a loud laughter, and I follow him in the pace I did before, but in a rather nervous mood. In the kitchen, which size if half of my bedroom but it still has enough place to cook normally in it, has a second room with the table in it. The wallpapers are light-green there, and on the other side of the table I had a sideboard and a bureau with full of porcelains and tea-sets. Long time ago I got one set specially from Kiku, that one was on the top shelf, closed away from Peter's unaware hands. As long as he won't find out how to grab there the chair of the table, everything's in safe.

The table itself could serve six people at the same time, and it has a vase in the middle of it with two white roses. The spread was simple white, and I like the pairing of the lime tree table's colour and the cover's with the vase. It gave a fashionable picture of the whole room. Now, three of us are sitting there, my position is at the head of course, on my left the littlun, and on my right, the American. The last mentioned picks his fork and sticks the fish with it for a couple of seconds, which makes me irritated, my blood pressure is on the ceiling again, however I busy myself, tucking up the arm of Peter's shirt to his elbow.

"W... what? You don't like it?" With an annoyed voice I try not to look on his face, just trying to finish the fight with the smiling boy's left arm.

"I do, just checked that you roasted it properly." And as before, he gives me a trustful smile, on the opposite side, Peter is already starting to mill the potatoes, as is only fair. How irritating when the man receives someone at his table and before that he had to cook for that particular person for a long time. Interesting, how much attention I give on his opinion. During breakfast I'm deeply in my thoughts about the programs of the day, and it pops in my head that I had promised to Peter that he can sit in one negotiation, yes, this is the third day of the conference. Today, nothing important will be mentioned, those were already been on the schedule, of course if Francis won't get a heart attack on a service in a hotel's restaurant. The world wouldn't lose much.

"Oh." Alfred swallows the current bite and pokes towards me with his fork. "Today, the topic will be about the pumps in the ocean?"

"It's Ivan's territory; I can't understand what you want there, anyways how many times I have to tell you not to push with your silverware?" Mumbling on him with rightful annoyance.

"C'mon, I pay him everything." Waves with his f.o.r.k.

"In your shoes I wouldn't have any business with him. I have more interest in Yao's topic about the investments in the mountains." Lies... Who the heck wants to build power station above twenty thousand feet? So troublesome, but well, Chinese people like challenges.

"You'd run off your world from the first sight of a yeti." Announces it, but before I could give an answer, he continues. "Are there any mines?"

"Of course, we talk about mountains, bison-brain."

"Well, I'll be interested if you guys found oil there."

"I have oil!" Speaks up Peter with happily shining eyes. "Will you buy it?"

"I would but I need Arthur's permission in your case." Laughs the blond and blinks at me, who is already picking up the mess from Peter's under plate, teaching the boy a new lesson for the life.

"Do not ever trade with him, Peter; he would buy your being too in the end."

"Hey, I buy the useful things only!"

"So I'm useless?" The littlun stands up in the second, and I'm already covering my forehead and my eyes with the palm of my left hand, and with a tired sigh I take a bite of fish from my fork. Alfred hisses down the child and strokes my right shoulder, as a sign that they are quiet again.

"Alright, we finished it." He still knows that I hate loud discussions around the table. "I'm just curious about some things Yao will list, but really, Ivan has the front position in my interests. Last time with Kiku we were talking about working together in some military technology, he would produce the microchips." He tells me this like that's the news of the year.

"You could choose from twenty different colours, but don't be surprised if your tank started to dance on the battlefield. Yao would take it more seriously and he could manufacture these in larger amounts, cheaper. But you've always needed Kiku, didn't you?"

Humming, he frowns but I see some other feelings on his face which I can't interpret. Hurt, discomfort, and some kind of disappointment, but then he nods, and mentions, that my way of thinking is interesting for him. I would say, that I like analyzing the situations before my decisions... idiot yankee, he is always so overhasty.

"When will the negotiation start?" Asks Peter, and Alfred turns to me with a surprised, almost scared face, and I raise my eyes calmly on the cuckoo clock on the wall, above the sideboard.

"At ten, now it's nice o'clock. Relax."

Do I really have to go there? Just to sit there and listen to their arguments and their urge to make themselves significant? If I think about it, Alfred can take Peter there too; he can look after him... I hope. I don't want that, maybe I'm not even ready to watch and listen, to bear as he pretends to be kind with everyone, as he handles them... It would be a pointless waste of a whole day, I can ask the documents from Wang then I can read them and decide with the ministers later, I don't have to act charming and suffer from Alfred's presence. Basically that he is here, still we have a huge distance between each other...

The last night was enough to make himself calm, but he still feels that there is something that bothers me. I hate that deadlock, but what if he asks on the parley, who dared to threaten me or to attack me? I'm not in the need of that, seriously. In the end, I would have to put a comment there.

"Go with Peter." I tell to him, without looking up from my plate, of course I get surprised gazes from both of my sides. "Show him the building, and don't lose him."

"Why?" Asks the pilot, his mouth is full of food... dear God... he acts like I haven't taught him any manners at the table.

"I assume you are mature enough to patrol a kid, albeit if I take your eating habits as a base of that, I wouldn't even entrust a duck on you."

"And what will you do?" Asks the (other) child, with honest interest in his eyes.

"I have some businesses to be done." I reply with a kind smile on my face, since Peter always deserves that from me. "I'll be late, but you don't have to worry."

"Don't go too far in that." Warns me with the sense of irony, Alfred swallows the last bite of the fish, but as a reply I just hum, I don't owe him with any sort of explanation. One snow-white fairy flies up from the bouquet of the vase, and I follow her with my eyes towards the corridor. I give a sly smile to her appearance and with that, I know exactly what I'm going to do.

"Peter don't forget, you have to be in the harbour at six o'clock in the evening. And you... "Turning to the American, I wait till he looks up on me. "Give him some proper lunch at noon."

"Dun' worry about that! We won't have trouble." Laughs Alfred and wipes his mouth.

"Keep his kidney alive." I murmur with a tiny evil smile on my face, and the blond from my right looks at me with gimlet eyes like he would say, "_That hurts, you know."_ Without any comment, I turn to Peter. "If you finished it you can go, I'll deal with the rest."

Alfred nods and fast eating the left parts of his breakfast he takes his departure and this is a bright example how immature he is, and he still doesn't know how fast a child can eat. Peter tries to chew faster for around half a minute then he slows down on his original pace. Slowly standing up I spend some minutes in the other room, then bringing him some warm tea from the kitchen, and he drinks it up immediately. He is definitely a good boy. The other blond with the glasses stares from the doorway as I bring Peter's napkin then I take his plate and his mug to deliver it to the sink.

"You're still a household fairy." Notes it out as I wipe up the mess that Peter made on the table, and that sentence causes an absolute blush on my cheeks, and on the other hand, makes me irritated.

"Didn't you want to check your car or something, you twit?"

"Alright, alright, don't bite off my head." Lifting up his hands to his chest, Alfred excuses with a strange smile on his mouth like he was really entertained, and he leaves me there to sulk in myself. Before he leaves, Peter hugs me and expresses his thanks, then runs after the blond yankee. Finally... silence. I can clean up everything.

After washing the dishes and putting them on their places, I planned to clean up the dirt that was caused my Alfred's filthy boots last night, but a servant did it already. At least they exist.

Quite annoyed for the reason that how the American messed up my morning, I walk back to the bedroom and stepping to the wardrobe I take off my favourite shirts and ties. The luggage laid in the other side of the room so I had to pull it to the bed, and started to pack the clothes in it. I won't be in need of much... just not to see... none of them. No one.

My own idea is the exact opposite of what should be done by the logical way of thinking, but who am I, to think logically? If I could front the problem (in this case, Alfred), I would just throw myself on the floor, and for some reason I don't find pleasure in giving a mental punch in my own face. He is exactly, that should think about keeping a proper distance from me.

Having business with Ivan, with Russia, that guy with those hero-complexes is retarded. Anyways he is piling up the most absurd ideas I've ever heard, of course he is unable to cooperate, he wants to change the world to fit his ideals. How immature. Long time ago, when I was climbing up on the hierarchy and I had similar plans, the life gave me an ugly kick from the other side. I wish he will be free of these troubles, but if he is fighting so passionately for his world of ideals, for his own truth, and he cannot look over them to see more of the happening around him, there is no reason to talk to him. My being to be there would be meaningless. The issues of my country are over; we solved the conflicts and the trading difficulties already.

As I'm turning back to the bed with a couple of trousers in my arms, the last night pops in my mind. The thought, the feeling of being close to him after around three hundred years sinks in my heart and instead of giving me comfort, it makes things bitter. From now on, if I could let myself to feel emotions like this, I couldn't have enough of nights like this. But I'm not a child, nor a teenager anymore.

The action I'm planning to do is shameful and disgusting, I know it too, but I don't find any other way to escape. I should have gone yesterday, sooner, and not letting myself into these embarrassing situations. The luggage is done. I can take my departure.

End of chapter Five.


	6. Blue Forest

Hi! I know I haven't uploaded for a long time, but... well, recently my life calls me even more often than before. I'll work on the translations more. Warning! This chapter is not reviewed yet...

**By all means **

6.

The so –called "cell phone" rang around five times on the right seat of my car. We the immortals, all of us got one of them, this was a prototype of America's new inventions and Alfred wanted us to use it first. The aim of this small, black device was to establish connectivity with another one, and to tell the truth, I didn't have any intention of answering any of those calls, so the phone was just lying beside me like a forsaken stone, crying for attention from time to time. I liked the ringing noise that it made sometimes, when someone was trying to reach me through this small box.

The place I'm travelling to is the last sanctuary, which could hold its state as it was long time ago. At the suit of me, Her Majesty ordered a complete renovating, but didn't sell it for private companies, instead of this, gave me absolute freedom to repose in it from time to time. One of the last villas which were built from the money we gained from the income of the East-Indian Corporation. This was a definitely good idea.

The box was ringing for the sixth time. Humming, I just acknowledge the phenomenon, still this won't break down the record when I was late from a governmental meeting in New Zealand, because of the urge of possession of a certain blonde cyclone. If I started something, I prefer finishing it properly then interrupting for such characterless events, Claire just guided me through the island she lived in, and appreciating her efforts, I had the honour of discovering her fabulous home on a more profound way. Besides this, I suppose this tiny little incident of me is rather unremarkable, over the past few decades I was way too obedient than I used to be. Currently, heading to North-West, I turned my way towards the mountains. I have always had fondness for forests, mountains however the place when I could feel my freedom unleashed were the ocean, and the open sea. These could not even appear on my escape list. Too many are controlling the waters nowadays... idiot yankee, why does he want to negotiate Russia? For the God's sake, he should have learnt the lessons by now.

Immature, ungrateful, self-centred, stuck-up, annoying wanker. The worst from his kind, with his pathetic laugh as well. Don't even tell me, that I brought him up. It might turn out in the end that Peter is in advantage because I never visit him, however he started teasing me recently as well. Ridiculous, perhaps I should not even care about these lads.

And they are asking, why am I so introverted? After bringing up someone like Alfred, try to be optimistic about the future of our world. Seems like I should retire from politics and ask Her Majesty to assign my duty for someone else. But after all these years? No one knows better this wine-drinking pervert retard then me. So troublesome.

Slowly I will be a nerve-patient beside these jerks, no wonder. I don't want to see Alfred. I don't want to hear his voice, I don't even want to think about the fact how neglecting he is about my presence. For him, this all would be meaningless, including the time he was by my side. For him I'm nothing more, then just a person to trade with, we don't have conflicts, we fought together against Germany, but that'll all. He doesn't even think about that he is the one whose every single taken step I follow, and I often find myself worried about his thoughtless actions. By choice I would like to stand beside him, when he makes decisions, when he is writing reports, when he reads reports, when he changes something... I would like to be there when he is sleeping, when he is eating, to have everything in order around him. If this would depend on my alone, he wouldn't take a step without me knowing about it.

Even though, what this feeling is exactly is a mystery in front of me, perhaps I shouldn't even think about it, just get rid of it. It would be pretty much easier without it.

It rings for the seventh time. Don't be ridiculous, you can't miss me that much.

Pulling in the Ford's bumper, I stop the engine and pull on the handbrake. With a relieved and exhausted sigh I let myself to sink in the feeling of my own arrival as I'm lying down in my seat. Closing my eyes, I listen to the silence, to the forest surrounding my place. Trees are bending over the small car, their branches let the sunshine though in small spots, creating some kind of a semidarkness around the vehicle, while I'm relaxing with the feeling I lost long ago, filling my mind inside, replacing the anxiety about tomorrow. I arrived home.

The door of the car clicks as I open it and step out on the pure green grass, while looking around I notice a small curl of bleak smile on my own mouth, I can't hold it back. Trees, bushes, ferns, hazy, thick air, smell of moss, noises and songs of small birds from the scrub, and over all of these, the silence. Turning towards the small villa I feel such an enormous amount of relief like I let the tons of burdens off my shoulders with a single moan. This place is precious for my heart, I can gaze the path in the thicket from the terrace till I fall asleep, or just staring up on the pure sky for hours. Smooth, undisturbed peace goes through this small house as well, stretching through the clearing lazily, with a hint of calling from inside to find calmness. Though its sizes were almost like a tiny castle's, the construction of the second floor made me remember to an old-fashioned, moss-covered mansion, since it's overhanging windows were almost lost in the branches of ivy in which I knew, lots of bird nests were to be found. Half of the villa was laureate already, and I didn't have any intention of freeing it from the plant. The pure white wall of the first floor shone in the dim, and from the side of the entrance I saw the veranda (which was covered with sweet broom), behind it smaller wooden-framed windows let warm sunshine in the rooms. Snorting quietly, biting in my lower lip my eyes found the rocking chair right beside the door of the entrance. No, I can't let my memories weaken me every single time.

The small house almost looms in front of me as I take out the luggage and start my path towards the veranda, as I approach; thousand streams of feelings are crawling in my soul. A place in the world, fully to be mine, giving peace, helping me to relax. This villa veils the world from me, embraces, defends from everything since it's so far away from any bigger towns, it takes one and a half day on horseback.

And this distance is that I need the most.

The clicking sound of the door must be that called the housekeeper's attention, as she opens the snow-white front door, and her face becomes pale in the second of her astonishment.

"Sir, please don't carry those!" Says immediately and runs down from the veranda to take one of my packs, holding her skirt up on the other side. "I do apologize, we didn't know about your arrival, unless we would have been preparing to help you!"

"You don't have to worry about this. I decided to come here this morning."

"Where are you coming from, if I may ask, sir?" – Walking beside me, we reach the hall together. In the sudden darkness I barely see the shape of objects for a couple of seconds but none of my memories betray me as I reach out for the coat-stand on the right side, just a couple of steps away from the door.

"From London. By car I could arrive relatively early." Hanging my coat on the stand I hear Mary's movement, as she pulls my suitcase beside the stairs, and after I turn to her she draws herself up, and places her dark-brown plait of hair on her shoulder.

"Can I offer you something to drink, or to eat? You might want to relax."

"A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you. A simple Earl-Grey, certainly."

"Immediately, please, make yourself comfortable. The newest papers are inside, on the desk." She smiles and shows the way on the left side which leads into the living room, but as a regular visitor, I already know my way, so I take the steps inside without her company and sitting down in the armchair. This place hasn't changed at all. This room is rather spacious, perhaps the largest in the whole building. Its windows open towards the deep forest which is surrounding the small villa. The walls are supported by tall shelves reaching the ceiling, completely full of books, anthologies, novels, encyclopaedias, while the small spaces between the racks are decorated with pictures in frames. The wall-paper is light-green, with diminutive arabesque embellishment. The fireplace is located on the right side of the room, with a neat, mahogany coffee table in front of it, covered by tablecloth and a couple of newspapers. Two armchairs can be found beside this table, fronting the fireplace and the double-sized sofa a couple of feet away from them. In all certainty, newly purchased the standing lamp's antique bell perfectly fits the atmosphere of the room, as well as the scent which permeates this small, diminutive world in its tiny beauty. I was just sitting in the armchair on the left side, just picking one of the papers of Birmingham to read. A couple of minutes later, turning over the pages of the journal, Mary patters in the room in her small black shoes, holding silver tray in her hands which she puts down on the table silently. Caring as always, she have always been an excellent housekeeper as the present situation demonstrates it, the house is neat, clean and always ready to receive guests, and this was the fruit of Mary's zealous work so far. However, when I brought her here from Scotland, she was just a small girl without manners. This black maid costume fits her, by the way.

"I'll be staying here for a while." I inform her impartially, letting the newspaper down on my knees. "I'd like peace. Quietness."

"I see, sir." She nods, but if I'm not mistaken, she still doesn't understand what I'm thinking exactly by my words. With a soft sigh I lift up my left hand to caress the line of my face.

"I'll explain it later. Where are the others? This is something everyone should be certain about."

As a matter of fact, the mansion had three servants to keep it in a good condition. Mary, Dave and Elias, however Elias spent most of his time in the garden and in the forest, caring about the residence. Dave was the temporarily signed person as a man-of-all-work, who got accepted for the job after the last war we had. Despite the fact that he is from Wales, he is proficient for all sorts of problems that can occur around the house. He brought the suitcase up on the stairs and took it into the room I had slept before as well. Upstairs, the villa had four smaller rooms, as this was designed when I... thought about myself as... consisting of two.

According to this, the upper floor had two bedrooms, one bathroom and an office room which still had a lot of blankets inside. I had to take deep breath and I wanted to lock the door with the key, but being followed by Dave's uncomprehending stare, I refused to do so. The two bedrooms are furniture on the same way, since the plan was...

Both of them have a single-sized bed, a small carpet in the middle, under the window and right beside the bed, one desk. In Alfred's room, his bed was standing beside the wall next to the chimney coming up from the fireplace, this way keeping him from the cold in the night. My room seemed to be quite empty compared to his, he had a shelf of blankets at the end of his bed, not to mention the row of pillows placed at the wall, on the inner side of the bed. I was just looking at this scenario, wondering about the furniture left in the dim shine, the chair with the pillow, the small booklet he left on the desk...

"Sir." Dave's deep voice calls back to the reality as he is looking at me apprehensively from about five feet far from me, I can see the pure anxiousness in his eyes. If somebody, then he knows it perfectly how I am at times, when my memories find me and as always, he tries to help me out of these moments. "If you wish, I can put everything in here and lock it."

To lock... this words echoes in my empty mind like a gloomy, deep bell's ringing in the clear cathedral. To lock. Could this help? Whether I wouldn't see, I would know what is inside but if I would meet the objects all the time... but... to lock everything which belongs to him... which is... his...?

"Sir..." Whispers the men again as he hears my troubled, cumbrous sigh. I'm just letting the air out of my lungs, but even this simple act is filled with tremendous weights.

"All shall stay on their places." Answering him finally, I take a few steps away from the door, letting it's doorway out of my fingers, to look up on my servant. He wears white shirt, brown trousers for work as always. I could not hide anything from him, how the simple view of the room breaks me down, how much it shook my soul that was already in pieces. My eyes don't show any particular attention towards the outside world, like I'm sensing the voices, the pictures through a dirty opaque glass, howbeit wherever I looked at, I just got stabs. Dave's existence is even gloomier in my mind as I walk in my room without telling anything, just to look around. After a couple of minutes the trembling decreases inside, as I keep my eyes on the forest through the window, wondering about the piercing grasp in my chest.

"If you need something, just say." Says the man from the corridor, and leaves me there. Yes.. Later.. but...

"Wait, I want to talk with all of you!" Stepping after him, a small, momentary ache shoots in me, as I see Alfred's drawing on the wall, stuck with a push-pin. I manage to pass by to follow Dave down the stairs, where Mary waits us, holding her own fingers in front of her, then as she hears my voice, she walks out of the house to call Elias. A few moments pass in silence as I sit down in the armchair I sat before, and wait for all of them to appear, and with my permission, all of them sit down on the sofa. Elias' dark figure hasn't changed at all, he still looks like someone who spent all of his time in the forest without proper civilized manners, however I'm convinced about his intelligence, since he had suggested me a couple of poets to read before.

Now, it's time to explain everything for them, but I fulfil my own wish first, and drink the remaining amount of tea from the cup.

"Well. The situation is, that I've decided to come here this morning. I'm in need of relaxation, silence and peace, and by these I mean, I wish to spend my time completely alone. Alone." Repeating it again, I would like to make it perfectly understandable for them. "If in case of necessity, I won't hesitate to call you. About the meals, I'll appear in time, but is it the same to me what you put on the table. All the same. The most important comes now. On the arriving calls on the phone from outside, your answer shall be in all kinds of cases, that you haven't heard about me for half a year, and I haven't informed you about my arrival. Everyone who might call me, must get this answer, the natural exceptions are Her Majesty and the Prime Minister. Did you understand? Did I make it clear for everyone?" Pale, astonished looks on their faces, but all the three are nodding obediently, and I let out a relieved sigh. "I have no intention of going away, and I don't know what time will I take my departure. Probably two weeks, maybe more. Till then I hope to be more calm and able to continue as I did before."

"Yes, sir." Dave nods again in agreement, Elias follows him in gestures but I can see in his dark-brown eyes, he knows it perfectly, that I won't make it through this easily.

"Sir, how could we help you?"

"In this, you can't." My smile is weak and bitter, as my eyesight falls on the flower figures on the carpet. "I'm sorry."


	7. Clearance

The first day went smooth and serene; however those calls which remained without answer (thirty calls, to be exact) can be considered as absolute exaggeration and harassment. I just frowned and sighed as I checked my cell phone, but the even more confusing and surprising fact is, that I have found the same amount of calls on the private telephone device too. As a matter of fact, I found this quiet extraordinary and interesting, what kind of need did the people have when they kept calling this number, but beside the reasons for their own good, I couldn't come up with any other idea. Anyways, I didn't see any importance of answering these meaningless calls. Indeed, I didn't even miss their voices. None of them. None. Once again... None.

The night was peaceful and calm; long enough to relax, and wake up fresh in the morning, but with sore muscles all over my body. In fact, I didn't even move in my bed, I found myself conscious in the position I remembered last time, before falling asleep. The Sun shone clearly and warmly outside of the small house, however I had no intention of going out on the terrace. I finished my breakfast in the dining room, and then, basically, I spent the day playing the piano in perfect solitude, although I felt that even these activities brought me temporary peace or the opposite, just strengthened my longing. I find myself on the edge of my bed in the evening, holding my head in my palms and thinking, trying to figure out, what should I do with myself if I am unable to cut this rending and piercing knob out of my bosom.

The phone which belonged to the house hasn't rang all day, which meant good. If I could, I would use these days for sleeping or spending time in the forest but three days are gone, and nothing changes. Moreover, I am in complete silence vainly, having a raging storm inside, here the wind shatters and raindrop cuts, the thunder shakes me. Sometimes I find myself leaning on the piano, my slim fingers holding my chest, at the place of my heart.

Alfred called me fourteen times on the second day, on the third, seventeen times. Francis, two times in two days, Peter once, and he wrote in message that he arrived home.

On the fourth day I'm playing the violin, and I was quiet surprised that I could play even those old, and long forgotten melodies, the Scottish and Irish ones as well. It meant a small, but still cheerful relief, it felt better than playing the piano, probably because for some reason, I found the violin's sound in harmony with the cries of my heart. I was playing through long hours without break, until all of my muscles were in pain, my shoulders were shaking and I couldn't feel my fingers, but I couldn't make myself to stop. I consumed my lunch with shaking and weak fingertips, half of the amount that I normally eat, then I left the room and continued to play.

The staff forbore to the status pretty well. They paid attention on avoiding me, to be quiet and still, to have everything in order around me. Basically, I was rather satisfied with their work.

Although, I couldn't find answer for one particular question. How will I go back? What will I tell them? What will they ask from me, where have I been? What will I answer to this? Will I have to lie?

Hm.

In moments like these, I just put my palm on my forehead for a second or two and keeping my eyes shut, I tried to get rid of these troublesome thoughts. My life became careworn as I spend the fifth day in the mansion; slowly, almost without cognising my actions, I get up from the bed by routine and every single time, I can't tear my eyes away from one of Alfred's little cut-out drawing on the wall, or from the shut door of his room. No one is inside, I tell to myself every single time, sometimes saying it out loud without realizing it, and then, being accustomed to the aching pain in my heart, I continue my way down on the stairs. The breakfast is ready and warm, but I have no appetite, I eat a couple of bites and I already feel it coming back, but I fight their way down. The hours are spent with playing the violin, or with a small porcelain cup in my hand, the other in my pocket, I'm just walking around in the rooms of the ground floor. The library room, the living room, the kitchen, the corridor behind the stairs, with the bookshelves, and the room beside it with the musical instruments. A decent amount of books, notes, equipments... everything is here, that once belonged to my life, and was an essential part of it. But the most important is missing.

Often, I find myself caressing the pillows on the sofa in the piano-room, and stroking the blanket beside them, or looking at the corner behind the piano, where once he was drawing, playing, and learning to read and write. With a slight, weak smile on my face, I let myself recall his voice, saying the letters out loud, or singing songs for me. Even today, sometimes I look there when I'm playing the piano or the violin, just from an old habit.

I would like to see myself decay first, than telling all these to him.

In the afternoons, I'm laying. Sometimes on the sofa, sometimes in my bed, or just relaxing in the armchair in the library room, but most of the times, on the couch beside the piano, with Alfred's pillows and under the blanket. I like to be there. That is the rear end, the most hidden place in the whole house. Even the sunlight comes through in small patches, among the breaches and leaves of the tall and old nut tree, and even if the room's location is behind the kitchen, it is isolated and quiet from that direction too.

Maybe it's on the sixth day, that I wake up for Mary's voice, she is talking on the phone and I can tell, I absolutely don't favour this, I had to get up, and just as I was, covered in a dark-blue blanket, I made my way out of the room, still hugging the cover around myself. I reached the corridor behind the stairs, and I could listen to her words properly. Her voice is a bit frustrated.

"Yea, that's broken for a couple of days, and we can't repair it, could you please come by and fix it?" Small pause, probably she got an answer from the other person. "Alright, of course, sir, it'd be lovely. We all hope there won't be a storm until you arrive here, but I'm afraid it's completely ruined." Pause again. "Leave that to us, Dave will take care of it. Where do you come from, exactly? Which town? Oh, thank you. Two days, then. Thank you for your time, sir. See you then!"

I'm standing in complete silence, leaning on the wall in the semi-darkness when she turns around and almost faints when she sees me. "Dear God! Sir?"

"Whom did you talk?"

"A carpenter, he knows how to fix the gutter. On the right side of the roof one part is coming off, and I don't let Dave to climb up there, better to call a professional. Of course, this has nothing to do with you, my Lord, the upkeep is our responsibility."

Humming, I return to the room and lay down on the sofa, back into the position where I was before, then shut my eyes, and fall asleep again in a couple of seconds. Maybe it's not really healthy that I sleep that much, but currently that's the only way that can keep me away from those pains which find me when I'm close to being conscious, or awake, and they don't release me for a second.

"Sir. You have to eat." My eyes open again but my body shivers as I focus my gaze and find the plate in Mary's hands. "Please, just a few bites. You must eat, you need food like everyone else."

She puts down the plate on the footstool beside the piano, helps me to sit up but looks to her movements, to keep the blanket on my shoulders, and the pillow in my arms. She practically forces me to stay awake and eat. "I brought the quarter of your normal portion, my Lord, you must eat this amount of food."

I nod, but I didn't really understand what she was talking about. My mind was empty and became emotionless. My eyes are gazing into nothing as I'm chewing almost robotically, and breath. As I gain back a bit more of my conscious, it came to my realization that the day turned into evening again, and Mary has switched on the lights. If she didn't wake me up now, I would have spent the night on the couch, in my clothes.

"Then, I'll have a bath." I whisper to her, and she nods.

"Yes, my Lord."

Haltingly, with careworn moves I get up from the sofa, and when I realize she left the room, I call her back and give the pillow and the blanket into her hands. –"Bring these up in my room, please."


	8. Ancient Call

Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Well, here this is… the part before the last part (that makes sense -.-). This chapter is the darkest, and still, (in my opinion) the most touching in all, and I hope you won't hate me because of all these sufferings, everything will be alright in the end. J Again! Thank you!

One more thing: I don't have a beta for this story, so this chapter is not betad again. If you find something that is not English-like, or not grammatical, I beg you to contact me, leave a review and cut my head off because I'm still studying English and I WANT to improve. Okay, enough from the boring author's notes!

8. Ancient call

"Are you sure, my Lord? Perhaps a cup of tea would warm you up."

Behind closed eyes I'm just shaking my head while I'm laying in my bed already, under my own blankets, but the one from downstairs is between my arms like it would mean the last fragment I can hold onto. Mary caresses my shoulder with her pale but soft fingers gently as if she tried to comfort me but when she realizes her attempt is pointless, she is preparing to take her departure.

"I'll be around, sir. If you are in need of something, I beg you to let me know. My only duty is to tend you well."

In tears, barely even recognising when but finally my dreams take me into the night.  
>I wish I knew why did it become that intense so suddenly? Till now it didn't hurt that much, now for what reason? Nothing particular happened and I appraise my demeanours are pathetic, seriously. In the middle of the night I awake for someone calling my name in the dim darkness, but no one is in the room. Hell knows. One thing for sure, I'm all alone.<p>

On this awful state nothing will change and as people say at times, the cloudless happiness is the shortest period of life but that will haunt and follow everywhere till the end. The fact, that once long time ago I had someone who I wanted to take care of, for whom I would give my own life, and from this nothing else remained just the mourning and bitter tears on my cheeks, will follow my mind to sleep again.

. . .

I don't know how many days have passed. I don't want to eat or drink, thereby I have nausea just from looking at food or a glass of pure water and as a consequence I feel strength and balance leaving my limbs and my shoulders especially when I stand up or walk down the stairs, when I sit down to the couch in the room of the piano. As I put my fist gently on the place of my heart I can feel the beating is quiet, almost warming. If this will end somehow, let it come soon. They say, there are other people who I could...

What if I am tired of this whole pathetic fight of trying to redeem my own self esteem, fighting my own emotions and my own heart, which tells me everything is lost? Who do I want to deceive? I have bore this mask on my face for two hundred years, now I want this all to be over, in no matter what way or method. I don't want to, and I cannot do this anymore. Too heavy.

Though I crave for my own destruction, I can't watch myself decay slowly, so my way of running away from consciousness of realizing my own action, is sleeping. The lines are getting blurry in front of my eyes.

For almost one day I didn't step into the kitchen but surprisingly I don't feel hunger at all. I'm over that point. Looking in the mirror of the bathroom upstairs, I can see a man who doesn't want to belong here anymore. He is waiting, there is just a slight, almost invisible hope that could bring him back. His eyes are glassy, exhausted, his skin is almost grey, his lips are dry and pale. His hair is messy, he didn't brush it for days. From his eyes, none of the sparks of life can be seen. He doesn't want to feel the scents of nature or the colours of the sky. He doesn't want to feel the weather, the temperature. The emerald eyes, which were once burning in strength and confidence are now pallid, there is nothing from that fire that is burnt into his enemies' memories.

And this person would be me...? I can't breathe.

No, I don't need anyone else. For me, there is no other person who could replace him, in any circumstances.

. . .

Walking down from the stairs, I turn immediately towards the room with the piano. This time, I'll play the violin but without notes, just as it comes from my soul, and just as I place the slim instrument to my shoulder, I know the melody. It would be magnificent with the piano, following the song the violin, with own parts... I'll have to work on that too. Later, of course... at once, I have to finish one thing. They have to find one thing finished.

The song, the sound that this musical instrument gives me helps me to forget time and place at all. In playing, I feel my own soul around myself waltzing, entwining me with a special feeling of safeness that I don't have to care about anything and anyone. Albeit I feel a bit dizzy and my stomach is aching I can't stop until I finish this line, this story in my head which storyteller is this small, fragile instrument. Fairly lost in my own memories and thoughts, I could compare it to a box which I open, take each and every dusty piece of memory out, clean it, revive it, live them through again, not losing a single shard from them. Everything lives inside of me and burning alive, boiling and somehow giving new, unexpected strength to my muscles to be able to play the violin, breaking my own limits. I have to continue. Around half an hour later, I must sit down and start working on the piano, which will follow the melody with a deeper tone, the main line would stay for the violin of course. I must write this down.

Careworn, I stand up from the piano and walk to the parlour to open a drawer and pick out some empty musical note sheets, then going back to the huge device to sit down. I have written some songs before but... this will be different than the previous ones.

Noon passes slowly on the axis of time when Mary brings me a small portion of food on a plate, but I invest myself too deep in my work, I can't waste any minute. Again and again, I play several parts to remember, sometimes reforming them, to create a united, harmonic melody. The butler was listening to these early versions for long, long time, and she is pleased by them. Hm. The Scottish, she could always be astonished by music, and suddenly she is afraid she has other chores around the house to be done. How strange, it is.

The melody, which comes from the core of my heart cannot be compared to anything I heard before. There is nothing from the Irish songs, but it's not that clear and continuous as if Edelstein would have written it. Ever so I detest this fight with my own self, this piercing feelings gives my inspiration for now. The music imbibes me thoroughly and flows inside me, just like the feeling which strangles me. Hopelessness, longing, missing, and the general fact that I could die just for one...

I don't need anything else just the instruments and the notes.

If only I could ask for five minutes to feel him around me, just five minutes to hear his voice saying my name... if only I could hold his cheeks in my hands, to be lost in those, lighter than the ocean, but darker that the sky blue eyes forever. I couldn't have any other reason to live for.  
>In the whole house, the only noise if the sound of the violin and occasionally the piano, it imbibes through the walls, the rooms, fills up with its kind of trembling.<p>

. . .

Exhaustedly, I put down the fiddle-bow to read the notes over again. Just looking at the small black patches I hear the tone in my head, singing on the strings of my soul. Mary leaved the sandwich and the plate on the sofa for nothing, I bring it back to the kitchen some hours later and without touching the food. I don't want to eat, it seems useless. Long time ago, when I was down I just worked, it didn't matter what task I had to solve I jumped on it like a starving shark till I was so tired that I couldn't even think. Now, I'm working on a piece of art which expresses and also strengthens my longing. The perfect way to put myself even more down, isn't it?

I can't do anything against it, stopping at this point seems almost impossible, though writing this melody helped to feel a bit better for sure. I'll have to accommodate myself to the situations and circumstances around him again and I can't let these tides of unnecessary emotions break through my control. This tortures me at the rate because me, who was alone always and I didn't have one person to let myself feel trust and affection... when I did that once, and opened my heart, I got a deep stab from the one I didn't expect it from.

Perhaps the worst thing is that this feeling had transformed into a... unnameable (and I'm lying)... inextricable... (definite) type of affection which I shall detest. This whole thing is ridiculous, nothing will change. This... I... took from that whiney Italian or that drunkard exhibitionist sentiment... Excuse me my French.

But that scallywag infantile yankee.

His mouth is always chirping absurd things, he is loud, sudden, he can't concentrate on three things at the same time, he always has to intervene into other people's business, he jumps in everything without considering the consequences, never cares about other people's good and he is unabashedly capitalist. Besides all he is able to waste his free time with these pointless, demoralizing games and horror movies.

Why am I thinking about him again? He forgot everything, like I'm nobody to him, like I have nothing to do with his success or the way he lives now...

Bitterly I put down the pen and wipe my eyes to see the sheets clearly. With tears in one's eye it's rather complicated to focus on writing music notes, indeed, but it's even more frustrating that just thinking about Alfred made me this emotional. This affection thing is rather loathsome. Always hardens one's life, and at my case this grew into such degrees that I don't feel like doing anything. I am aware that the beginning aches in my muscles and my joints in my arms and my shoulders will duplicate by tomorrow morning. An enjoyable day lay ahead certainly, since I won't be able to play any musical instrument...

The song is finished. Midnight had passed by the time I wrote down the last note, but it did worth all the efforts. Reading through the pages I could hear it clearly and unstoppably in my head and every time, he was among my thoughts. All my memories and my hopes were condensed in those four minutes, and I could feel each and every pull of strings as I played the melody inside.

When I retired to my bedroom, I laid in my black trousers and dark green shirt under the covers, hugging the dark blue blanket, ducking my face and blowing the air into it. When he needed me I was there for him, I even stayed there for months to comfort him from his nightmares or take care of him every winter. He could hug me, sit in my lap until he wished to leave, he could sleep with me if he wanted... he didn't even have to ask for these and now, I'm here in a villa behind God's back where no one would find me and I find it extremely hard to calm down my thoughts.

I never had trouble controlling my emotions about relationships with other people, my self-control is at the last limits. I don't care that Mary knows I'm weak. I don't care that I can barely walk because I don't have enough strength in my legs to bear myself anymore. I don't care that the fairies are knocking on the window pane with their tiny hands and they want to talk to me, they would want to comfort me somehow...

The dreams find me soon, after an exhausting day, I don't remember exactly when, I'm sleeping awake or I see the walls of the room in my dreams, listening to the dim silence that entwines me and closes inside. There is no point in getting up, I know it well. Just staring out of my head, feeling the soft, silky blanket among my fingers, smelling my own scent from the pillow, I find temporary peace. The air is chilly outside... cold shakes through my skin as I think about leaving the bed, but anyway I don't feel enough balance in my feet to stand on them.

Sometimes it would be too easy to cry.

From downstairs, I hear the door closing with a soft click, then I hear Mary's boot knocking on the floor, putting her basket on the first step of the stairs. Then she packs out everything, makes tea and breakfast. I hear it, with half-open eye-lids recognising that she came into the room and gently puts the tray on the table. Not much after this, I feel her soft fingers caress my shoulder, she sits beside me on the bed and sighs. "Sir... I brought you breakfast."

I don't move, just blink, I heard her. She still waits for my definite answer, so then; slowly I turn my head to face her, to meet her pitying, sad eyes with mine in an absolutely empty, still suffering, hopeless gaze. She trembles, and covered her mouth in dismay. "Sir..." Her voice is shaking but this doesn't change anything, she can't erase the absolutely unconcerned pain from my eyes, which burns through them. I won't eat. I don't need it.

"My Lord, you didn't eat breakfast yesterday!" She tries, and grabs my shoulder. "Didn't have lunch, didn't even touch the dinner! You haven't even finished your tea, it was cold already! If you continue this, you'll get sick!"

Oh, come on.

I just close my eyes for a second to clear my throat. "I don't want to eat."

"Please, my Lord. I beg you, at least... drink a few sips of tea, I made your favourite the way you like it... "

Quietly, almost an almost silent muttering, behind closed eyes I let my face sink into the pillow. "I don't want to."

Mary shakes her head slowly and bitterly, then with a loud and long sigh she carries the tray out of the room, with the untouched food on it.

Finally, with burning pain in my stomach, I fell asleep again.

. . .

I don't know when exactly, but I wake up all of a sudden to strange noises. I think, something might have happened while I was asleep, so I sit up, frowning, with messy hair, I have to stroke down a couple of uncontrollable tufts. I have asked silence from them! Can't they simply obey to me?

However, from the strange noises I realize that someone arrived here; I hear knocks of a heavy boots on the wooden floor. With hazy eye sight I catch the place of the door and then slowly, finding balance on the table I stand up, forcing strength into my sore body. The steps are careworn and slow but I can reach my way out from the room, turning towards the stairs.

From the sudden amount of efforts my lungs are a bit exhausted already, I have to stop and find support in the walls for a couple of seconds before taking another step again. I'm obliged to have fast and small breaths, although when I move my arm again, my shoulders and my back starts aching terribly. Yes, the song... _Alfred._

Covering my face with my left hand, my lips curve down as I would cry in any seconds, my eyes are in tears already. Why do I even care, that someone is here?

As these thoughts cross my mind, I have already took a few steps down the stairs, when I hear Mary's worrying words she said in hushed tones, from the living room. I take one or two steps again, these are a bit unstable and weak again, I have to hold on the banisters with my left hand.

"I can't do anything with him, sir. For two, maybe three days he hasn't eaten anything, he doesn't even drink! All day he keeps himself closed in a room, he doesn't even talk to us, and forbid us to tell his location to anyone. I tried to give him biscuits or his favourite tea but he didn't even look at them, but played the violin and the piano all day, but... my Lord, he sleeps way too many hours, I'm in distress... I'm terribly afraid he'll be sick..."

"Where is he now?"

That voice... my eyes open up in an almost hurting way. Can't be.

This can't be happening.


End file.
